


Save Tonight

by blackoblivion13



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Also brief - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BUT ALSO HAPPY, Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Bilbo needed closure, But kind of a fix-it, Canon Compliant, Explicit kissing, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Panic Attacks, Post BotFA, Thorin did too, but not graphic, fluff and comfort, i think, is that a thing?, kind of sad, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackoblivion13/pseuds/blackoblivion13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song "Save Tonight" by Eagle Eye Cherry</p><p>“Then explain…” I replied, glumly, after I realized that he seemed to be expecting some sort of vocal affirmation from me. “Explain why my mind has decided to so cruelly show you to me now… like this!”</p><p>My voice was too loud in the silence… it pressed in on me from all sides and I could feel my pulse sky-rocketing in my chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> So... I should be working on The Alpha King, instead I'm writing everything else but that... At least this one is COMPLETE, though, right? That's gotta count for something. *nervous laughter* Well, I may add a couple more parts to this as separate stories... One would be the sex scene (I didn't add that in because it didn't feel right in the main part of the story... and would've taken like forever since they were going super slow, like you don't even KNOW)... the next would be a second part... (hint, hint this bit MAYBE POSSIBLY be set after LotR). But that depends on if anyone even likes this... so ur... let me know?  
> Could be good to mention that I have not really edited this... so just tell me if there is something I've failed to catch (I expect there to be a lot) and I'll fix it.

It was weeks… no months after my journey, my adventure, before my home held any resemblance to its former glory. Even then, it still felt too small sometimes after sleeping below the stars for so long. And quiet… too quiet. I often found myself listening so hard in the darkness of my room when I’d first come home, listening for the sound of dwarves… orcs… anything to stop the ringing in my ears that seemed to consume me… Really, I knew what I wanted to hear the most… or rather, who. Thoughts of Thorin and his nephews often slammed into me like a warg… and just as painfully. It didn’t particular matter where I was, if memories of those three hit me, I would almost always have to find something to lean on… to gather my breath and calm my frantically pounding heart…

Of course, my dreams left me with an aching chest and woke me up in panic just as often. They were rarely long dreams… mostly just snippets of memories… of watching Thorin death… of Fili’s fall… of Kili’s lifeless body… of battles… and of so many things which I wished I could have changed.

Over and over for nearly a year these thoughts and dreams haunted me. And then, one night, miraculously-the night before Durin’s Day, my mind had supplied that night before I’d nodded off-I fell into a dreamless slumber.

It was… an amazing thing, really, but I imagined at the time that it was a long time in coming. The waking thoughts of Thorin and his company of dwarves-while never quite gone, something I doubt they ever would be-had faded to a silent longing in the back of my mind, a gentle ache in my chest. It had taken a long time.. and really I was sure-still am sure of this-that most of this recovery could be attributed to my precious nephew, Frodo… the young hobbit had lost his parents far too soon. At first, I’d been unsure if I was fit to raise a child-especially in the state I was in… but I had ignored the fear, I’d let myself be alone long enough in this Hobbit hole… he had an answering loneliness in him.

Regardless of my own misgivings, Frodo’s presence eased the ache of their absence in my waking life, even if my dreams often churned out old and painful memories…

But that night, on the eve of Durin’s Day, even my dreams decided to give me some peace. I had loathed to wake up from my peaceful slumber, but I still had a young hobbit to tend to... so up I’d gotten and through the day I’d gone, a pleasant feeling of warmth buzzing around me… a warmth I thought lost with a love that’d never been spoken.

I thought of what a wonder a whole night of restful sleep could do, but even I was surprised by my agreeable mood. Perhaps, I had thought at the time, this was what letting go might feel like… but then I remembered the events of my first Durin’s Day… a king, dressed in clothes and armor far too long for a dwarf with an expression of joy and triumph as the secret door into Erebor was revealed. I thought of Smaug, the terrible, crawling around his hoard, exuding such intense heat… I wondered how Bard and the men of Laketown were fairing in their attempt to rebuild Bale… of Balin and Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, Oin and Gloin, Ori, Nori, and Dori… how were they? I wondered on these thoughts for a full day before I’d become aware of it.

And with that realization, I knew I could not let it all go to rest just yet… I wasn’t ready… perhaps though I would be able to start… perhaps soon, I’d be ready. I washed the dirt off my hands from where I’d been mindlessly tending to my garden, nibbling on biscuits and jam as I prepared Frodo’s dinner—I ate very little compared to what I’d eaten before my journey and I wondered how much of that had to do with the fact that I was still clinging to the past and what was just my body not worrying so much about it now that it was used to eating significantly less than before, though I’d gained back much of the soft rounded stomach I’d lost.

As I contemplated if I wanted to add a bit of butter on the bread with the jam, I lost myself in a deeper thought… Could I somehow get a letter to my friends in the East…? Could I bring myself to do so after nearly a year of silence?

After a long and thorough bath—some habits were more easily abandoned than others, it would seem—I went to bed feeling perhaps slightly optimistic in my hopes of a dreamless slumber and maybe slightly pessimistic in my thoughts on other matters… with a determination to sleep on it and decide in the morning, I fell with relative ease into sleep—which, looking back on the evening, I wish I could’ve taken that hit.

It started in darkness… the only indication I was dreaming at all was a floaty feeling accompanied by fleeting touches… A hand on my shoulder as if to welcome, a grasp on my hand as if to keep me there… Soft, warm lips and a light tickle of a beard on my forehead, my cheek… my lips as if trying to gently rouse me from slumber.

Perhaps, this should’ve been my second clue that something was happening… that I wasn’t alarmed by this sort of awakening.

Begrudgingly, I blinked my eyes open… My vision was blurry at first as it is prone to being when I first wake up against my will… even so gently. It took me several blinks to adjust to the low light—was it candle light? Who had lit a candle? I surely couldn’t find it either way—of the room… which I noticed was… different though if asked, even now, I wouldn’t be able to explain what that difference was…

Well, that’s not entirely true… there was one major difference… one that I wouldn’t forget even if I _could_ … There, standing over me with a smile so fond that I couldn’t help but smile back on reflex, was someone I hadn’t expected to ever see outside my memories. It took what felt like forever to for me to understand what it was that I was seeing.

“THORIN!” I nearly screamed, tears gathering in my eyes, joy in my heart… because _Thorin_ was _here_ … It took a great deal of restraint not to simply launch myself at the dwarf king. I did scramble up to hug him though. He felt real, warm and solid, in my arms that, while they couldn’t wrap around his broad shoulders completely, had no trouble wrapping around his neck, his long dark hair tickling my exposed skin.

“How?” I breathed out when I finally felt those familiar arms wrap tight around me.

He let his face fall into the crook of my neck… and perhaps this small sign of weakness should’ve told me all that I needed to know.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled against my sleep shirt, which was thin enough I could feel his warm breath against my skin even through the fabric.

“What? Why?”  I asked, confused. “If this is about what happened at the gate—”

“No… though I am still sorry for that as well…” he mumbled, sounding decidedly out of character. He straightened up to look at me, a sadness in his eyes I’d never seen before. It wasn’t an emotion I liked see on him… “No matter how real this may feel, Master Baggins… this is only a dream…”

“A… dream?” I asked, starting to withdraw from him. I knew my mind was sometimes a cruel place—the ring that I’d carried around in my pocket had proven it on more than one occasion—but this? This was too cruel… even for my subconscious.

“Bilbo…” he said quickly, tone placating, and I was caught off guard by the way his mouth formed my name. “Let me explain…”

The fire in his eyes was determined and it said that he would not let me leave before I’d listened to what he had to say, and it was this fire that made me relax… the familiar sight of such firm resolve. I felt myself relax into the grip he had on my upper arms, as if he was terrified I’d flee… he hadn’t been too far from the reality… I’d been ready to run.

“Then explain…” I replied, glumly, after I realized that he seemed to be expecting some sort of vocal affirmation from me. “Explain why my mind has decided to so cruelly show you to me now… like this!”

My voice was too loud in the silence… it pressed in on me from all sides and I could feel my pulse sky-rocketing in my chest.

“This may be a dream, Master Baggins, but it is not one of your mind…” he said, his voice careful as if he wanted to make sure I understood everything he was saying… it was too bad that for all his effort his words made no sense to the panicked jumble that my brain was quickly becoming. “On this night during Durin’s Day…I was granted a single wish… the wish of a soul still bound to the earth by the regret of unspoken words…”

These words seemed to slow down my panic weirdly, though I still felt strangely detached from the world around me and I could barely pull in any breaths.

Perhaps it was the familiarity I had with the fire in his eyes, the fire that inspired 12 dwarves and a mere hobbit to go on an impossible journey to the other side of Middle Earth.

“My wish was for closure…” he finally said after a long moment of silence.

“Closure?” I wheezed out and this seemed to alert him to the fact that something was wrong with me and I felt his large warm hands rubbing soothing circles on my back.

“Yes…” he mumbled, close to my ear, his voice rumbling warmly through me in a calming and familiar way, though the last time he’d spoken to me like this had been in a fever pitch of Dragon Sickness full of distress and distrust. That caused a new wave of worry to spike through me. “I needed to see you, Bilbo…” there he went, using my name again as if this extra intimacy might help, he wasn’t wrong… “I needed to speak words that I hadn’t had time to when death claimed me…”

The words were whispered fiercely and I just couldn’t understand. What could be so important.

“So as much as this dream may not be real… I am here.”  He finished, his voice determined, but gently, caressing across my skin in a way that settled me from my panic like nothing else had been able to and probably nothing ever would be able to. I slumped into his waiting arms, breathing coming in a little too quickly, but fully and easily.

“But for how long?” I asked, when I was able to breath normally again.

“Until tomorrow comes to take me away,” he replied, one large hand stroking my cheek gently, making me notice the cold tear tracks on them and I could feel an unpleasant sensation curl in me and turn my face a light pink. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes again, but I wouldn’t let them fall this time… I’d cried for Thorin enough already.

“What was so important for you to tell me that you would come for a night only to have me suffer through your loss once again?” I demanded, angrily, even as I was so glad to see him.

“I…” he looked so surprised by this as if he had not realized that little detail. “I love you, Bilbo Baggins… My burglar.” He announced finally, suddenly, after a long silence, his eyes burning fiercely with the declaration. “That was what I needed to tell you.”

“You…loved me?” I asked and at the time, the use of present tense had slipped my notice, so great was my shock at the declaration.

“I _love_ you.” He said, insistently, “And I know that I have no right after—”

“I love you, too, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain…” I snapped, sounding almost angry at the admission… and maybe I was.”

Warm and soft lips brushed against mine and I blinked in surprise as Thorin pulled back, that found, happy smile once again plastered on his face.

“If… if this is it… our last time on the same plain of consciousness, Thorin…” I said after staring for a long moment, my lips tingling with pleasure and maybe a bit from the gentle scratch of his beard on my skin, and my body thrumming with a courage I hadn’t known I had until I’d stabbed a orc through the chest with a small blade. “Then you will have to give me enough to last a life time on…”

It started with his hands finding my sides and squeezing gently, acknowledgement of my demand—agreement perhaps, as well. They slipped lower, questioning. At my small nod, he leaned forward and caught my lips in a chaste kiss.

I leaned into it with a quiet sigh, parting my lips ever so slightly. Thorin moved his lips mine carefully for a few moments before takin advantage of the opportunity I’d offered him and letting his tongue run over my bottom lip and finally into my mouth, which I opened wider in response. He let out a quiet rumbling noise of pleasure at that, letting his tongue explore my mouth, before he gently coaxed my tongue into play.

Everything he did was gentle, reserved almost, in a way I’d never imagined Thorin would be as a lover… But I couldn’t’ say I was surprised. He was a dwarf—built for hard work and heat—and I was a hobbit…and while I’d discovered I was made of tougher stuff than even I’d given credit for, there was something to be said for the differences between the hard muscular lines of Thorin’s body in comparison to the soft curves of my own.

And somehow, it was perfect. I fit into his body, snuggly, as he pulled me closer, his hands exploring exposed skin, but not yet trailing in the unexposed expanses hidden beneath my bed clothes. I gave a small sound of encouragement enjoying all this gentle pressure but needing… no, _wanting_ something firmer, more tangible…

I didn’t do more to urge him on, however, because I could tell he needed to be gentle right now… we had all night, I had to remind myself. No need to get impatient now…

It was a few hours before we could pull ourselves away form each other’s skin… and a few more hours later we were still tucked together, speaking in quiet voices in the peaceful, dimly lit room. My body was tired and tingling pleasantly from the more aggressive acts that had slowly followed the gentle exploration that had began their night.

“I don’t want you to leave…” I told him after we’d fallen into a comfortable silence—and now that I look back on it, I was surprised by the lack of memories that this silence brought forth… of a time when Thorin and I had talked only when necessary.

The lighting in the room had changed and somehow I _knew_ that morning was creeping upon us.

Thorin pulled me closer with the grip he had on my body. “I wish I didn’t have to leave… but the dead are not meant to roam among the living…”

I nodded, accepting his words, before pulling and wiggling my way to a position where I could kiss him.

“You are a cruel dwarf, Thorin…” I said, voice thick with emotion. “Of all the things you could’ve done with a wish… you chose this… and even though it was so cruel… I am glad for it…”

He raised an eyebrow in a familiar questioning gesture and I was reminded of a time when I’d ran off on an adventure—running after a company of dwarves—of a time when I still had two young dwarves to be teased by… a time I realized I’d never want—even it I _could_ —to forget and that I wasn’t at war with it anymore… I wouldn’t have any more dreams of glittering gold or dragon fire.

“Because it brought me something that I also hadn’t realized I’d needed… something that will make the longing bearable.” I had replied, though I never could explain to him what it was that it had been. I realized many years later when I was preparing to write my book at last… it was closure…

Thorin brushed at the curls on my forehead—still sticking slightly from out earlier exertions. “I’ll always be waiting for you, Bilbo…”

I tilted my head a bit as I digested his words. I could feel the tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. “Thorin…” I mumbled, slightly brokenly.

“So when you’re done and this life is no longer bearable.. I’ll be there to greet you…”

I choked on a sound that was half a sob and half a laugh.

“Then expect to wait a long time… I don’t plan on dying for a long while yet…” I replied. “I have to live long enough to write my book… and to take care of Frodo…”

“I’d have it no other way…” he replied before his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “It is a shame that I couldn’t meet him…” I hummed in reply. I could feel the tingling awareness that came with waking up starting with my fingers.

“I… I am still not sure if I should send the letter to Erebor…” I said, suddenly. No one would know better than Thorin how to make this possible… if it was advisable at all. “But I don’t even know how to do so… No hobbit in their right mind would deliver such a letter…”

“Write your letter, Mister Baggins…” Thorin said eyes soft like they were when they’d hugged that time after he’d almost _died_. “I have a feeling you’ll find a way to get it to them soon enough.”

“Yes, well, very good then… I’ll do just that…” I responded with a nod, finding myself clinging even more tightly to him as the world around me seemed to go a bit fuzzy around the edges. “Thorin…” I whispered, distress apparent in my voice.

“I know,” he soothed, though he looked almost as distraught as I felt. “I love you, Bilbo.”

“I love you, too.” I said, tears slipping down my cheeks even as we gave each small, sad smiles. He murmured something to me in Khuzdul and I blinked owlishly at him… it wasn’t something that I was familiar with. “What did you say?” I asked, unsure.

“I’ll tell you when we meet again,” he said softly, pressing kisses against my face, his beard scratching gently.

I nodded helplessly before pulling Thorin so our lips could meet in a frantic last kiss before the light faded and the press of lips against mine in the darkness as it faded to nothing.

When I opened my eyes, my room was the way I’d remembered it being before bed. My body felt sluggish, but not sore like it had been in my dream.

My cheeks felt damp, but there was no other indication that the dream had even existed.

That day, I allowed myself the time to sort through my thoughts… and when evening came, and Frodo was asleep, I started my letters. There were several of them at first—all first drafts that I wasn’t sure I wanted to send—one for each remaining dwarf… one for Bard… even one for Thranduil, though I’d never much liked that particular elf, and Elrond.

After a week of thinking, I scrapped those and wrote one letter for my dwarves, one for Lord Elrond, and one for Bard, in which I asked after the elves of Mirkwood. It took several sheets of paper to write everything, but when I was finally finished there was only three sheets for the dwarves, two for Elrond, and one for Bard.

It was around this time, a month after my dream now, that Gandalf, the Grey, came to visit.

“I’m glad to find you in good health, Bilbo.” He said, smiling. “Though I fear I can’t stay for long.”

“No, I understand, wizards are busy folk.” Bilbo said, with only a small bit of bitterness in his tone. “But your timing is as good as always.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising one of his bushy eyebrows.

“There is really no way for me to send a letter out of the Shire… and I cannot leave for Bree without Frodo and, I daresay, he is not ready for such a trip…” I replied, already starting to bustle around to gather my letters. “Of course, I don’t expect you’ll want to travel to Erebor, but perhaps you know of a way to get them there safely…”

“I see…” he said in a tone of voice I recognized as pleased. “I’d be happy to deliver your letters…  I know the recipients will be pleased.”

I stopped to look at him before nodding and gingerly pulling out my letters.

“I hope so…” I finally replied, handing them to him like something precious.

After a promise to get the letters to their recipients—in person if necessary—Gandalf was gone, leaving me to sit around and twiddle my thumbs nervously. What if something had happened after I’d left?

So for months I waited nervously, forcing distractions on myself in the form of Frodo and re-entering proper Hobbit society.

One morning some months later, as I was getting the mail I noted a great raven sitting on my mail box… tied on his talons almost reverently—though they were obviously weather and travel warn—were three letters… all very different from one another. One was a fine quality paper with an almost green tint to it and looking far less worn than the other two. One was thick and looked like it had smudges of dirt on it. The last one was a simple piece of parchment folded and tied with a bit of string.

The raven cocked it’s head at me and crowed a bit as if to tell me to hurry. I remembered the raven Balin had spoken to and wondered if _this_ was a raven of Erebor. With that hope in mind, I inched forward until I could gently detach the letter from the large bird’s leg.

It stared at me expectantly.

“Thank you,” I said after a moment of hesitation. “Would you like something to eat.”

Because I had no idea what was the customary way to deal with a raven messenger. The bird squawked and I nodded as if I had any idea what was being said… The bird didn’t fly away, so I went in, set my letters down carefully before getting a bit of bread, some jerky bits, and a thing of water, unsure what ravens ate exactly.

The bird seemed pleased, though, so I took that as a sign that I had done something right and left it to its meal. I had letters to read after all.

The green tinted letter was written in the elegant scrawl of Lord Elrond. I enjoyed reading through his and held much interesting information… to this letter I replied. I still wanted to go to see Rivendell someday…

I figured I’d want to rewrite the letter a couple more times so it seemed a little more elegant, but for now, this was a good start.

By the time I’d settled on that decision, Frodo was home and it was time to put him to bed. He asked me for a story that night… I read to him from a book and tried to ignore that disappointed look in his eyes. The same one that crossed his face every time I refused to tell him a story of my adventure… I just felt that it wasn’t time yet.

I chose that night to retire early, after noting that the raven was now gone. In the morning, I went about my regular routine and thought my mind often drifted to the letters, I refused to linger on them until the quiet of the evening had settled around me and Frodo was out with Sam, another young hobbit and son of Mr. Gamgee.

I sat and plucked the next letter from my stack, the thin one with the string. This one, as I had suspected, was from Bard. His letter was just as diplomatic as I had been expecting… and also just as direct as he gave the status of the rebuilding of Dale and the influx of dwarves and the help of the elves.

This lifted away some of the doubts weighing me down… it seemed that no major calamity had struck them in my absence… no reply was needed to the short letter, but I still slipped it into the stack of maps that were to be moved to my chest, where the remnants of my adventure lived.

It took me a week to finally stop avoiding the last letter… the one that I knew was from Balin…

There were four thick sheets of parchment inside the hardy envelope, each covered in Balin’s strong and neat script. It took longer to read that letter than it had to read the other two combined. I often found myself chuckling in fondness over a description of Bofur’s shenanigans… or smiling at the knowledge of Ori’s new post as a librarian… of Bombur’s joy of cooking—all still petulantly avoiding fresh vegetables.

By the end of it, the last of the burden I’d been forcing myself to carry had eased away to nothing but the weight of the ring in my pocket… At least until I began writing my book…that was the end of that. And I wouldn’t be writing my book quite yet… I needed some time to breathe… some time to live my life and put adventures to the side for the moment.

When Frodo came in that night and asked me for a story, I told him a story of trolls… and it was the first time I had spoken aloud about my adventure since my return…

Truly, it’d been a freeing feeling. Both the release of what had been in my heart and also the light it made shine in Frodo’s eyes.


End file.
